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Bobby pulled off her hat and tossed it to the opposite seat. Ruffling her short hair, she peered at Judith in sudden realization.
“You’ve been doing this every night, haven’t you? No wonder I find your chest heaving like you’ve been running and you reading books upside down. You’ve hurried home and leapt into bed, pretending you’ve been there all along. Hubbard is your partner in crime, damn the man.”
“I’m sorry, darling.” Judith sounded contrite but not entirely humble. “I have no wish for you to be harmed because you’re excited about helping Mrs. Holloway sleuth.”
“I don’t know how exciting it is.” Bobby jammed her arms over her chest, the photograph singeing her pocket. “Interesting, I should say. Lady Coulson’s sons came in tonight, by the bye. With their evil mentor.”
“I saw them,” Judith, who’d just accused Bobby of being too excited about the enterprise, came alight with curiosity. “But I couldn’t wait for you to come home before I knew what happened. Do tell.”
“Not much to tell,” Bobby said, hoping she didn’t dim the enthusiasm in Judith’s eyes. “Terrance seems to be heavily under the man’s influence, and William is pretending to be. Probably trying to keep the younger lad out of trouble. Don’t recognize the bloke playing nanny to them. He looked at me sharpish, probably wondering why I watched them, but thankfully he lost his fascination.”
“Oh, dear. Is that why you’re upset?”
Bobby reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the photograph. “Chap didn’t unnerve me as much as this did. I thought it was you, but then realized it wasn’t. You don’t have that.”
She pointed to a flower just visible on the woman’s shoulder. A tattoo, it was called. Sailors collected them up and down their arms, as did men who wanted to prove they were adventurers. Unconventional ladies occasionally had them done as well.
Judith went very still for several moments. Then she reached out with trembling fingers in dark leather gloves and took the photograph. “Where did you get this?”
“From the chappie with Terrance and William,” Bobby said. “He was handing around a stack of lewd photographs, probably to distract the other gents from their cards. There was a lot of losing, that round.”
“More to the point, where did he get it?” Judith’s voice was as steely as the man’s eyes had been. “I thought these were all destroyed.”
Her cheeks burned red in the coach’s dim lamplight, and she pressed her lips tightly together.
Bobby regarded her in bewilderment touched with alarm. “If that ain’t you, Judes, then who the devil is it?”
“My sister,” Judith said. Sudden tears wet her eyes and spilled to her cheeks.
Chapter Four
Bobby jerked herself out of her stunned motionlessness and gathered Judith into her arms. Judith rarely cried—almost never. Now she rested her face against Bobby’s shoulder, shaking with sobs.
It was difficult not to be flummoxed. Bobby had learned much about Judith’s family—their wealth, high standing, and connections to almost every peer in the land on both her mother’s and father’s side. Bobby’s father was an earl, but Judith’s parents could buy and sell him several times over, as well as cast him to the four winds … socially, anyway.
Judith had an older brother, who, like Bobby’s, was busy filling his nursery with heirs and spares. All males, of course. Both families had ceased bothering about their eccentric and unmarried daughters, thanks to all the bonny boys springing up.
Nowhere in the narrative had Judith indicated she had a sister, especially one who resembled her so closely.
“What is it, love?” Bobby asked gently. “Did she die?”
Almost every family had lost at least one child, which was a reason the survivors were encouraged to produce as many as they could.
Judith disentangled herself from Bobby’s embrace, sat upright, and took a handkerchief from her pocket. Dabbing her eyes, she drew a long breath.
“Forgive me. It gave me a turn, seeing her picture. I thought all those photographs had been destroyed.”
Judith still held hard to it, fingers squeezing the card as though she’d never let go.
“It’s none of my business,” Bobby began. “If you don’t want to tell me the tale, that’s all right.” She was dashed curious, but she knew from experience how painful another’s prying could be.
“No, I want you to know.” Judith’s shoulder bumped Bobby’s as the carriage jerked over a hole in the road. “You’d have liked Lucetta. She was a free spirit, determined to choose her own path. Still is, I hope. She is very much alive … I think.”
“You think?” Bobby’s eyes widened. “Good Lord, that sounds dire. What happened?”
“Nothing so awful as you are imagining. Lucetta lives somewhere on the Continent. At least, that was the last I heard from her, ten years ago. She blamed me and cut the tie, but I still worry about her.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Bobby said abruptly. “You must tell me all.” She softened. “If I can help …”
